


the ashes & the aftermath

by whitecap



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Nuclear Apocalypse, Angst, Apocalypse, Bombs, Bunker, Depressed Sportacus, Enemies to Lovers, Gardens & Gardening, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nuclear Bombs, Nuclear Warfare, Post-Nuclear War, Robbie Rotten is kinder than he seems, Robbie Rotten's Lair, Underground Bunker, forced roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9528029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitecap/pseuds/whitecap
Summary: A nuclear bomb forces Sportacus to shelter in Robbie Rotten's lair. As he comes to terms with a life-or-death decision he made moments before the blast while beginning to see Robbie in a new light, he is forced also to grapple with an unsettling truth: maybe the boundaries between hero and villain are not as clear-cut as they once seemed.





	1. Foreboding

Sleep evades Sportacus tonight. His body is an impeccably tuned machine, the pinnacle of robust health, wrought from a lifetime of healthy habits and exercise. He maybe could stand to brush his teeth for a bit longer every morning, but besides that, his constitution is flawless. He has always enjoyed the benefits of a perfect sleep schedule as another effect of his lifestyle, nestled safely among the clouds after his normal routine of healthy snack and early bedtime, 8:08 PM.

So why can't he sleep tonight?

Sportacus turns restlessly in his bed, unable to settle into a comfortable position. Minutes fade stubbornly into hours, and the night marches on. And yet he still cannot sleep. Finally, around two in the morning, he sits up, rubbing at his eyes, and walks over to the glass paneled wall of the air ship, where he should have a perfect view of Lazytown. But tonight, it is overcast. 

A sense of murky, thick foreboding begins to form in Sportacus's chest like a stormy cloud on a distant horizon, looming over him threateningly. A dark premonition. He rubs his chest and stares out at the night. 

Perhaps.....but no. He does not drink, or so he tells himself, but he knows that there is a bottle of expensive brennivín stowed away in the walls of the air ship that was given to him as a gift for some heroic act or another. He knows he should have done away with it ages ago, but tonight it beckons to him silently but surely. Deep down, he knows that there is a reason he still has it after all this time. Subconsciously, he has been waiting for a night like this one to indulge a bit; to let go of the at times overwhelming healthiness that has become his lifestyle. Plenty of adult elves led healthy lives that involved drinks now and then, why shouldn’t he?

But there was something pathetic about drinking alone on the air ship, far above everyone he knew. Maybe, Sportacus decided, he’d go for a walk around Lazytown and find somewhere to drink. He pulled out a blue backpack and began to fill it with sports candy, and finally, the secret bottle of brennivín. The premonition was beginning to sharpen into a thoroughly chilling dread, and Sportacus was antsy to leave the ship. He even forwent his usual series of handsprings and flips to propel him into the captain's seat, opting instead to walk over normally and sit down.

Sportacus wandered through the deserted streets of Lazytown, an eerie feeling settling over him as he realized that there was no one else out. That wasn’t in itself worrisome, as the good, upstanding citizens tended to be asleep at at time like that, and the crime rates were virtually nonexistent, Robbie Rotten’s shenanigans nonwithstanding. But usually there would be a cat or something, perhaps another night owl watching a bit of late night television in their living room. Sportacus couldn’t help but feel unsettled. He took a bite of a green piece of sports candy.

 _What the hell is going on?_ Sportacus wondered.

Suddenly, the alarming sensation of his crystal lighting up rang through Sportacus’s senses. Adrenaline flooded his body, a liquid, hot feeling that he knew wouldn’t subside until the danger was over.

He found Stephanie Meanswell near the park, frantically searching the patch of grass beneath the sports candy tree.

“Stephanie? Are you in peril?” Sportacus asked, touching the crystal on his chest.

“Sportacus! What are you doing down here?” Stephanie asked, eyes wide, turning towards him. 

“I came for a walk, but I heard that there was someone in danger.”

“There is someone in danger! The whole town!” Stephanie exclaimed. 

“Whatever do you mean by that?” Sportacus asked. 

“You didn’t hear about the bomb threat?” Stephanie asked incredulously, abandoning her search to ogle up at him, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “It was all over the T. V. My uncle- that is, the mayor- ordered everyone to evacuate!”

“I don’t watch television,” Sportacus reminded her.

“You should get in your air ship and fly as far away as you can!” Stephanie implored him.

“Stephanie, what are you still doing here, then?”

“I’m- We left earlier, but I left my journal in the park. I snuck out of my uncle’s bomb shelter to come get it!”

“That’s not safe,” Sportacus said. “Forget the journal. Your life is more important.”

“Stephanie!!!!!” A voice thundered from the other side of the park. “You need to get into the shelter!!!!!” Sportacus and Stephanie turned around to see the mayor barreling at them from across the park.

“But my journal!” Stephanie exclaimed.

“Sportacus!” Mayor Meanswell shouted. “Tell my niece to get back inside immediately! She listens to you better than she listens to me!”

“Stephanie, go with your uncle,” Sportacus urged her. 

“I am very sorry, my dear boy,” the mayor said, “I would tell you to shelter with us, but we only have supplies and bunks in my fallout shelter for the three of us.”

“The three of you?” Sportacus inquired.

“Yes. Myself, my darling niece, and dear Ms. Busybody.

“Uncle, maybe if you took out some of the cake decorating supplies you have in there-”

“There isn’t time for any of that now, Stephanie! It’s too late! We must hurry, unless we want to die in the nuclear apocalypse!” The mayor pronounced the word nuclear like _nuke-you-lurr_ instead of _new-clear_.

“Is that a plane?” Sportacus peered up at the sky, where a small plane seemed to be cutting through the thick cloud cover.

“Stephanie! Run!” Mayor Meanswell shouted. Stephanie took off towards the mayor’s house. He began to follow after her. Turning his head back to shout at Sportacus, he added, “try Robbie Rotten’s lair! You’ll never make it back to your air ship in time!

“Right.” Sportacus surged with energy, beginning to sprint towards the entrance to Robbie Rotten’s underground lair. Above, the sound of the plane was deafening, and he had never run faster in his life as he approached the lair. When he reached the entrance, he turned around to see if the Meanswells had gotten to safety. Stephanie was nowhere in sight, but the mayor was still in the middle of the park. 

Sportacus hesitated at the entrance. Depending on how soon the bomb would drop from the plane, he had seconds, and only seconds to spare. He didn’t want to die young, not after a lifetime of carefully maintaining his perfect health. Dying out in the open from a nuclear bomb was not how he wanted to go, and if he went to grab the mayor, he calculated, no matter how fast he ran, they would both die. Better one dead than two. He didn’t have time to rescue the mayor, and swallowing his instincts to help, he took a deep breath and entered the lair.

Just two seconds after he was safely inside, he heard the loudest noise he had ever experienced. It reverberated in his chest, vibrating him down to his bones, seeming to split his eardrums open with the deafening boom. His skull rattled, his spine and organs shook painfully, and his lungs ached with the vibrations. Sportacus collapsed on the floor, close to passing out, the bottle of brennivín in his backpack jabbing into his ribs. The air whined as the boom faded away. Sportacus’s ears rung. He clamped his arms over them, hiding his neck instinctively, rolling up protectively into a ball on the floor. This hurt worse than that time Stingy had run him over with his car.

He focused on his breathing as his body wailed.

Finally he stood up.

 _I’m not dead_. Sportacus ran his hands down his body, feeling for broken bones, like he’d done in the war. He seemed relatively intact, though his head was filled with splitting pain, and his ears were ringing so loudly he thought they might explode.

“Well, well, well,” said a voice down the corridor. “What do we have here?”

Sportacus turned around slowly, the pain in his head protesting.

Robbie Rotten.

“Seems to me that you’ve found yourself in a bit of a sticky situation.”


	2. Everything Comes Crashing Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sportacus faces difficult news.

The next thing Sportacus knew was pain. It felt as if the universe was collapsing and the epicenter of the implosion was his brain; every particle of matter to ever exist, entire galaxies, lives and great civilizations, all were rushing in and crushing his skull with the white-hot pain of death. 

 

Oh, god. It hurt. 

 

He was only peripherally aware of the rest of his body. It felt as if he were floating in a soft cloud with marginal aches and pains, miles away from the firestorm in his head. 

 

But he could still feel his hands, and somewhere he sensed something round, smooth, and firm pressed into his palm. Then, his hand was being pushed towards his face, and his jaw being gently opened. 

 

"Take a bite," said a voice in the sky, a bodiless entity commanding him from the void. 

 

He pressed down with his teeth, the pressure on his bones a fiery rage, and the strange parallel version of consciousness and pain he currently was experiencing faded upwards & away, floating above him like a ghoul and then vanishing into thin air. 

 

* * *

 

The next time he wakes, he is slightly more coherent. He can tell that his body is in some sort of recliner chair, and that the pain in his head is what is causing his disorientation. He opens his eyes- ouch, big mistake. Daggers of pain stab into his eye sockets, and his hands fly to his eyes. 

 

"Aaaauuuuugh!" Sportacus exclaimed, crying out in anguish. He must be in the most brightly lit space in the whole town. 

 

"You must eat this sports candy," says the voice from the void again, only this time, he recognizes it. It's Robbie Rotten. But what is Robbie Rotten doing in his air ship? Had he left the ladder down again?

 

And why was he in so much pain?

 

"Robbie Rotten?" Sportacus asked, eyes still clamped shut. He angled his head to better figure out where Robbie was on his ship- if he was close enough to be a threat to Sportacus. 

 

"Er, yes," said Robbie, who seemed to be standing a few feet away. "Eat your sports candy. It will make you feel better."

 

"Are you up to one of your tricks again, Robbie?" Sportacus asked. "Have you made a sports candy out of lollipops or something?"

 

"What? No!" Robbie exclaimed, sending drills of pain into Sportacus's frontal lobes.

 

"You really didn't sabotage the sports candy?" Sportacus asked. 

 

"No, it's your sports candy that you brought with you," he said. 

 

"I brought?" Sportacus wondered. Why would he bring some sports candy to his own ship? And really, what was Robbie doing there?

 

"Oh dear, you do seem worse than I suspected," Robbie said, tapping his voluminous chin. "You must eat the sports candy. You will feel better." He felt the sports candy being pressed into his palm, an apple by the feel of it. It's completely smooth, except for where there's already tooth marks in it. 

 

"Robbie, did you bite this sports candy?" 

 

"No, Sportakook, you did." Robbie Rotten cocked an eyebrow.

 

"I....." 

 

"Just bite the sports candy!! You will feel so much better!" Robbie sounds impatient again, and if Sportacus wasn't in so much excruciating pain, he would have been suspicious of Robbie's attempts to get him to eat. 

 

There was a strong chance the sports candy was sabotaged, but he doubted he could be worse off than he was right now. It was a calculated risk. He bit into the apple and began to chew, wincing at the pain that the action inflicted upon his skull. 

 

But it worked: he did feel better. The healthy food began to leach away some of the pain, and he ate with renewed vigor. 

 

"Robbie, can you hand me another one?" Sportacus asked when he had finished it down to the core, his eagerness for more sports candy overpowering his suspicions about Robbie's presence aboard his air ship home. 

 

"No, you crazy blue sports elf, we have to conserve them." Sportacus was puzzled. He had plenty of sports candy in his sideboard. 

 

As the pain was fading somewhat, he dared to open his eyes. 

 

He wasn't on the air ship at all. 

 

He was in Robbie Rotten's lair. 

 

"Robbie, have you kidnapped me again?" Sportacus asked. He knew he was in no real danger, but it was still annoying. 

 

"Sportakook, you came into my home," he said, eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Don't you remember?"

 

"No," Sportacus admitted, finally taking the time to look around. He was sitting in an orange recliner near the back of the lair, a shaggy orange blanket draped over him, propped up on a purple pillow. A few feet away, Robbie Rotten stood, posture guarded, leaning against a table. On the floor, sports candy spilled out of an unzipped blue backpack, the one he usually used for his camping gear. 

 

"Well, do you know what's going on?"

 

"No." Another no. Sportacus rubbed his temples. Good. His hat was still on. It was lucky that he had his goggles to keep the fabric in place at times like these. 

 

"Okay, so what's the last thing you do remember?" Robbie asked, tapping his chin in thought. 

 

"I was having a healthy sandwich......" Sportacus said, thinking back. "And then, I was brushing my teeth."

 

"And?" Robbie asked. 

 

"And, I got into bed. But after that....." Sportacus shrugged.

 

“You’re having memory confusion,” Robbie stated. “I think you may have a concussion.”

 

“A concussion? But….” Sportacus frowned. “Give me more sports candy, and I’ll be fine.”

 

“No, you have to make it last,” Robbie said, going over to where the sports candies were spread across the floor and gathering them into the backpack. 

 

“Why?” Sportacus wondered.

 

“You really have no idea what’s going on, do you?” Robbie asked, shaking his head incredulously.

 

“No,” Sportacus said. He was beginning to grow worried by the expression on Robbie’s face, and by the fact that the vexatious villain wasn’t screaming at him to get out of his lair. He deduced that there was danger outside. “Hey, where’s my crystal?” Sportacus asked, glancing down at his chest.

 

“It was going haywire, so I put it in that trunk over there,” Robbie said nonchalantly, gesturing at a very steampunk-looking blue chest. “Muffles the sound of anything. Comes in handy quite often.”

 

“How often?” Sportacus asked warily. “Oh, never mind. Will you tell me what’s going on  have to go figure it out by myself?” He began to remove the blanket and attempted to get up.

 

“No! No! Don’t go anywhere!” Robbie commanded, rushing over and shoving Sportacus back down onto the recliner.

 

“Aha! This  _ is _ one of your tricks! You’ve kidnapped me,” Sportacus declared.

 

“No, you need to be sitting, because if you really don’t know what’s going on, you are in for a giant shock.” Robbie sat on the edge of the nearby table. He sighed. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news-”

 

“You love anything bad, bad news included,” Sportacus said.

 

“Silence, Sportaloon. Not bad news like this.” Robbie Rotten gazed at the floor, seemingly disturbed. “The bomb threat turned out to not be a threat so much as a promise.”

 

Sportacus felt as if he’d been hit by a brick.

 

“B-bomb threat?”

 

“Not threat. Bomb.”

 

Sportacus swore in Icelandic. 

 

This was bad. This was catastrophic. Everything he knew had just been destroyed. He felt faint, sinking into the chair.

 

“I presumed that you came into my lair to shelter yourself from the blast, since you’re never in here, and so I deduced that you must have been aware of it. But it seems to have been erased by your head injury.”

 

“So that’s all the sports candy left in the world?” Sportacus asked, looking wounded.

 

“Sportadork, of course that’s what you’re worried about,” Robbie scoffed. “You do realize that Lazytown has just been destroyed?”

 

“Lazytown…..has been destroyed?” Sportacus choked out. He felt crushed, like no amount of sports candy would ever make him feel whole again.

 

“If you don’t believe me, take a look,” Robbie said, walking over to where his periscope for spying was. Sportacus got to his feet, shakily, and walked unsteadily to the periscope, no tricks or flips. Robbie regarded him warily, with an unreadable expression on his face. 

 

With a surprisingly familiar sense of dreadful foreboding, Sportacus put his eyes to the periscope.

 

The scene that met his eyes was dreadful. Rubble lay everywhere. The ground was scalded black. There were no buildings left standing, and the trees and everything was a desolate mess. It was eerily dark from the clouds of ash that blocked out the sunlight from flowing.

 

“My beloved Lazytown….” Sportacus whispered mournfully. “It’s gone.” His soft Icelandic accent made the statement sound even more forlorn to Robbie Rotten’s ears.

 

“Now do you see why you must conserve your sports candy?”

 

“But….what happened to the people of the town?”

 

“The townspeople….” Robbie said, tapping his chin in thought. “Most of them have fallout shelters, I think.”

 

“But why?”

 

“Well, we’ve known that this was coming for a very, very long time,” Robbie said.

 

“Why has no one ever told me about this?” Sportacus asked. He was clutching tightly to the periscope view piece for dear life, trying very hard not to collapse to the floor. It was the shock of a lifetime. “The war….it came to Lazytown too?”

 

“My silly blue sports elf….there is nowhere the war’s long, violent arms cannot reach.” Robbie Rotten gazed into the distance, his expression steely.

 

“Oh, my god,” Sportacus breathed. His head was beginning to pound again.

 

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Robbie said, rushing over to where Sportacus was beginning to sway dangerously and winding an arm around him to support him. “Ach! You are heavy! It is all that muscle mass, I guess.” He began to lead Sportacus back to the orange recliner. The sports hero was silent. He allowed himself to be led without a protest or a handspring.

  
Things were looking very grave indeed.


	3. Dropping The Pretense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the practical questions of their new situation surface.

The next couple of days passed in a blur for Sportacus. He drifted in and out of sleep, not moving much from Robbie Rotten's recliner. He ate sparingly, and talked very little. Robbie wasn't always in sight, but Sportacus didn't much feel like talking, anyway. His head hurt a lot without much sports candy to help him feel better, and he was constantly overtaken by the grief that weighed his heart down for Lazytown. 

For the first time in his life, Sportacus felt lethargic. He floated in and out of consciousness, head a whirlpool of misery. 

On the third day, he ate an apple for breakfast (was it breakfast? He had no idea what time it was) and felt well enough to set the recliner in an upright position. He looked around the lair. The lights were off, presumably to conserve energy, but the lair had a sort of eerie glow that never left. Maybe Robbie was a bit scared of the dark, he thought with a small smile, but shook it off. What kind of villain had a constant night light?

As he sat, recovering from the effort of setting the recliner upright, Sportacus took stock of his clothing. It was all still there, except for, strangely, one of his wristpieces, which he saw lying on the ground nearby as his eyes adjusted. But his shoes, shirt, pants, and hat were still all on and barely askew. He checked that his ears were still tucked in. Miraculously, they were. 

Sportacus became aware of two things suddenly, once he had ensured that his headgear was still in place. 

First, he was dying for a drink of water, and second, he needed the bathroom. 

Helplessly, he stood up. He felt a sudden rush of lightheadedness, and almost collapsed back onto the recliner, but managed to keep his balance. 

As he was struggling along, a panel opened up in the wall, and out from a panel door stepped Robbie Rotten. It was the sort of door to appear on a space station or submarine, set about six to eight inches off of the floor and made of the same industrial metal as the walls, shaped like a short rectangle with the corners rounded. Robbie had to stoop to step through it. He was wearing a dressing gown in the same rich jewel tones as his normal clothing, tied with gold, and a matching night cap. The fabric was sumptuous. It was truly a luxurious garment. 

"Sportaloon, you're awake," he said, eyes wide open in surprise, hands flying to his hat. _That's a strange reaction,_ thought Sportacus. He patted his hat, as if its presence reassured him. 

"Yes, I- I need the bathroom," Sportacus admitted. 

"Oh, um. Of course. Right down there, last door to the left," Robbie said, opening a small hatch that looked like the handle of a fire alarm pull. This opened the door again. It swung open. 

Sportacus made his way as fast as he could down the hallway and used the bathroom. Once he was finished washing his hands, he was overcome by the urgency in his parched throat, and twisted himself under the faucet so he could drink his full. 

The water was crisp, cool, and clear. It had a very slight earthy tinge to it, but it was the best think Sportacus had ever tasted. He drank and drank until he began to feel a little bit dizzy and sick. Turning the faucet off, he braced himself against the basin of the sink and took several deep breaths, head hung, eyes closed. 

Slowly, his mind returned to earth. He felt leagues better after using the bathroom and having a drink, and though the headache still pounded, his body felt refreshed. 

He wished he had brought more sports candy. 

As he put his head up, he began to take in his surroundings. There seemed to be some sort of automatic light, and, come to think of it, the lights in the main room had gotten brighter once he had started moving. It was just like Robbie to have motion sensor controlled lights, he thought. Not only was the man a technical genius, but he was also a man who strived for convenience in all aspects of his life. Sportacus looked around the bathroom. To the left of the door were the toilet and the sink, with a mirror that opened up to a medicine cabinet, and to the right was a shower and bathtub combo and some little shelves built in the walls that stored towels, extra toilet paper, and hair products. It was decked with strange contraptions, one by the mirror, another in the shower itself, and two on the walls. Sportacus scrutinized them closely. There weren't any discernible aspects by which he could tell the functions of the contraptions, but he guessed they helped Robbie get ready for the day. Despite the industrial walls and the lack of decorations, the space managed to be.....almost cozy. Perhaps it was the striped, jewel toned shower curtain, or the tub of hair gel on basin to the side of the sink, or the worn towels in the cabinet. 

Sportacus stepped out into the hallway. He was intrigued by the other doors in the hallway. They weren't like the door that separated it from the main room. Instead, they were nondescript, thin white doors, with panels and gold knobs. The hallway was carpeted purple, and he looked back into the bathroom and saw a ruby mat he hadn't noticed before. 

Sportacus found himself drawn to the door directly across the hallway from the bathroom. His hand was reaching out for the doorknob, but he stopped himself. It was wrong to snoop in Robbie's private home. 

His home. Sportacus smiled to himself softly. He was glad that the villain had a cozier place to dwell than the industrial blue grey of the main room. Perhaps, in time, he'd get to look in the other rooms. 

As he put his hand down, Sportacus caught sight of his bare wrist. He wondered why Robbie had taken it off. 

But he was distracted by a more pressing matter at hand: his rumbling stomach. Sportacus had the swiftest metabolism of anyone he knew due to his impressive physique, and he needed a lot of fuel to keep him healthy and strong. Three sports candies in three days were not enough for him. 

Even though he was hungry, Sportacus felt a strange sense of apathy, as though if his stomach wasn't complaining audibly, he wouldn't have cared if he ate at all. 

It hit him again, for the hundredth time: the reason he was down here, the reason he was using Robbie Rotten's private bathroom, the reason he was so low on food. 

Lazytown was gone. The fate of everyone he had worked so hard to protect was unknown. 

And he still couldn't remember the events leading up to his waking up in the bunker with Robbie. 

But, if he was running low on food, Robbie had to have been too. Maybe he could offer him some sports candy. Sportacus turned down the hallway, ignoring the pain in his head and the hunger in his abdomen, and headed for the main room. 

"Robbie, I just realized I never asked you if you are getting enough food," Sportacus said once he had figured out how to open the door. He stopped short when he spotted Robbie, who was gently folding the blanket Sportacus had been using. The villain jumped as if he had been caught robbing a bank, and he yelped, throwing it sloppily back onto the chair as if it had suddenly burned him. 

"I was just, uh, making sure you didn't stink it up, Sportasmell," Robbie said, straightening his robe self consciously. Then, he picked up Sportacus's apple core and held it between two fingers, moving it to a small bowl he had set on top of a strange contraption that resembled a steel microwave oven.

"What are you doing with that?" Sportacus questioned. He closed the door and walked closer. In the bowl were the other two apple cores along with the one from that day. 

"I'm saving them," Robbie explained. "We are going to need the seeds."

"For what?" Sportacus said, baffled. 

"I think you may be underestimating just how long we might be down here," Robbie said. "I have some Hyper Plant Gro 3000 that might help us do some hydroponic gardening."

Sportacus was astounded. "You, gardening? I seem to remember you covering the children with dots specifically so they _wouldn't_ garden."

Robbie looked at him, a strange glint in his eyes. "That was before things..... became the way they are now."

"You really had the foresight to stock up on what was it? Veggie Gro 3000?"

"Hyper Plant Gro 3000," Robbie corrected.

"Do you see my point?" Sportacus countered. 

"I didn't _stock up on it_ ," Robbie said in an affronted tone of voice, "I simply invented it this morning. I hoped the microwave wouldn't wake you."

"You invented something that would help the sports candy grow?" Sportacus was surprised and touched. "But wait, why are you helping me? How do I know that this isn't one of your little plans? You know, to make Lazytown stay lazy? After all, no one can do sports if they're in fallout shelters for months."

"Months...." Robbie looked wistful, but saw that Sportacus was serious and shook his head. "No, Sportadork, it's not one of my plans. I would never do something that nefarious." 

If Sportacus didn't know the villain better, he would think that the taller man seemed almost..... disappointed that Sportacus would accuse him of something like that. 

"I may be a fiend, but you really think I'd employ nuclear weaponry just to stop kids from running around outside all day?"

"No, you're right, it does seem farfetched." Sportacus's shoulders drooped. "And you're really not just tricking me into thinking there's been a bomb, are you." It was more of a statement than a question. 

"No, I'm not." Robbie awkwardly patted Sportacus's bicep. Sportacus sighed. 

"So, hydroponics, huh?" 

"I think it might work. I wasn't planning on having you down here with me, so I only stocked up on the foods I liked."

"You knew this was coming?"

"It was always a threat."

"And the water? And what about the electricity? And heating?"

"The water is from an underground well deep beneath the bunker. Completely pristine, though of course I have a carbonation machine," Robbie said, screwing up his nose in disgust at the thought of plain water. Oh well, thought Sportacus, they could work on that later. "The electricity is from a renewable energy generator, and as for the heating, well, there is none, but since we're deep underground, the temperature stays the same year round. It gets drafty sometimes, but I can make you some sort of sweater or blanket."

"Robbie, that's very kind of you," Sportacus said softly. "Why are you doing all of this for me?"

"Sportacus, look around you." 

Sportacus blinked. It was the first time he could remember Robbie using his full name. 

"This is what we have, for a very long time. I think, and I think you might agree, that we should drop the pretense of hero and villain. Otherwise, we might not survive."

The gravity of Robbie's words was astounding. They'd never been anything but hero and trickster before, an ancient duology set in stone by eons of lore before they'd even been born. The roles fit like gloves, and to drop them.... And for Robbie, not him, to be the one to suggest it.... Well, it required something of enormous magnitude. 

Something like a nuclear bomb. 

Sportacus nodded. He silently stuck out his hand. Robbie shook it. 

"To dropping the pretense."


	4. Construction Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A construction project begins- and complicates.

Surface-wise, there never seemed to be too much in common between Sportacus and Robbie Rotten. Between the diets, the habits, and the general daily activities chosen by each of the men, it was easy to see them as a juxtaposition: two caricatures, hero and villain. One saved the day, the other....thwarted. Or did whatever it was that would necessitate the day needing saved in the first place. 

 

But, Sportacus mused as he watched Robbie set up his work table with a table saw and some wood, one lesson that he himself had learned over the years in Lazytown was that similarities lay not in the habits and hobbies, but in the heart. For instance, it seemed that both he and Robbie possessed the same sort of frenzied determination when it came to a task that they were fully invested in. Robbie just went about it with less backflips. His host had worked himself into a whirlwind, muttering to himself and drawing up sketches on all sorts of surfaces that shouldn't have been drawn on. The complexity of some of his calculations was impressive and a bit daunting. He moved with incredible speed and dexterity for one who thrived on cake and claimed to be lazy. It was strangely mesmerizing. Sportacus was intrigued, but he also got the vague sense that he was intruding. 

 

"Robbie, are you sure you don't want me to help?" Sportacus asked, headache still lingering at his temples, feeling a bit unsure of himself when there wasn't a task for him. 

 

"I've already told you, Sportaflop, these things require precision. The sort of precision that can only arise from doing it all exactly the way I can see it in my head. What I want to do is...." Robbie trailed off, face screwed up as he searched for words, ".....hard to articulate. Now, why don't you go work on pulling all of the apple seeds from the apple cores."

 

"Okay, I can do that," Sportacus said. He turned away, and began to remove the seeds, fingernails digging into the now-leathery flesh of the sports candy to excavate the little shiny black pips. It wasn’t exactly  _ pleasant _ , per se, but it didn’t take a lot of time, either. Sportacus made quick work of the first apple core and was reaching for the second when Robbie turned on the table saw. The sound was loud, jarring, and sudden, and the apple core fell to the floor, scattering a pair of precious black sports candy seeds across the room. Sportacus dropped it to clap his hands over his ears. The metallic shrieking seemed to drill into his head as if it was his skull that was beneath the saw. He clenched his eyes shut against the pain as white shapes danced urgently in front of his eyeballs. 

 

Then, though it was already close to unbearable, the pain increased along with the noise when the saw reached the actual wood in its swooping motion, grinding and screaming and making Sportacus’s jaw ache with how hard he was clenching it. He squeezed his hands tighter, but it did nothing. 

 

Then, the sound went back to the first stage, and after a few eternal seconds, switched off. Sportacus breathed in and out, working consciously to unclench his jaw and open his eyes. The searing pain still lingered, as if someone was tearing his frontal lobes like a dinner roll. He staggered over to the orange recliner and sat down, cradling his throbbing head in his hands. He couldn’t remember ever having a head injury like this one. He must have been thrown down harder than he thought when he entered into Robbie’s underground lair. The thoughts were punctuated by the pain, and he gave up on thinking on much at all, just let himself get swept up in the tide.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Across the room, Robbie pulled his orange earplugs out of his ears and set them down, inspecting the cut. He planned to make about two dozen deep, square planters, and though he knew little about gardening, he’d seen the ones the children sometimes used to grow sports candy, and though the little pests didn’t have the sort of time commitment of the scale needed to cultivate an orchard, he thought this might do. Sportacus didn’t have much of a variety of sports candies in his bag, and frankly, it was rather miraculous that he had had as many as he had had, with all his claims of not knowing about the bomb threat.  _ Hmmmmph. Maybe that floppity flop really does eat as many vegetables as he tells the children to.  _ Even still, having over a dozen just seemed….excessive for one time.  _ What is this, B. Y. O. S. B.? Bring your own salad bar? Ha _ . Robbie snorted at his own humor and grabbed some sandpaper, starting to sand the edges of the new cut. But, he remembered, frowning, there had also been a bottle of brennivín in that bag. And it hadn’t been one of those little mini bottles they had in hotel fridges, no, this was a large amount.

 

Where had the town hero been going in the middle of the night with sports candies and a giant bottle of schnapps?

 

And why was it so hard for him to remember? 

 

Robbie cast a glance back over at his new roommate via fluke, and did a double take when he realized that he wasn’t where he had been standing before. No, the sportacular show off was collapsed in the recliner, looking as if he’d eaten a baker’s dozen gourmet chocolate eclairs, topped with the finest ganache, filled with a rich and creamy-

 

_ Ah, time to fantasize about that later,  _ Robbie thought, reluctantly tearing himself from his daydream and rushing over to the deactivated activity elf.

 

“Sportaloon! You’re as pale as-”  _ don’t say ice cream, or icing, or whipped cream- _ “a ghost!”

 

“I’m sorry, it’s the noise,” Sportacus said, voice sounding very quiet in the echoey chamber. “It seems to bother my head injury.” His accent came back strong when he was in pain, and this new development made him sound vulnerable. Out of his comfort zone. Robbie was alarmed, though at himself or at Sportacus’s predicament, he couldn’t be sure.

 

_ Empathy! You may have resigned to work together, but no  _ empathy _ for him _ . _ What’s next, eating a banana? Doing a backflip? _

 

_ Silence, he’s in pain. Sworn enemy or no, a part of you feels bad for him! _

 

_ Well, of course I feel bad for him! He’s pathetic! Just look at him! All shivery and small and not flippity…. _

 

Robbie scowled at his mental gymnastics and pulled himself out of it. 

 

“How much do you want to ration your sports candy? I don’t know how fast my invention will make the apples and other sports candies grow, and you don’t want to run out, but it seems like you need some now,” Robbie said, tilting his head in thought. It was quite the conundrum.

 

“I can’t,” Sportacus said. “I already had too much today. You said we could be stuck down here….”

 

“A very long time,” Robbie concluded, nodding.

 

“It’s okay, as long as I don’t have any sugar, my body should be able to use some stored energy to….”

 

Robbie politely tuned him out as Sportacus began to give a halfhearted spiel on the benefits of (healthy) fats. He glanced back at his work, surveying the single board he had cut so far. It was going to take a lot more loud construction to complete the planters, with dozens, if not hundreds, more times on the table saw, not to mention the power drill and the belt sander.

 

If only he had his pre-bomb electricity sources up and running too, then he would be able to use the invention microwave to finish all the planters. But as it was, he’d only be able to use that for small things. He wished he could have spent more time building up the lair’s resources, but he’d been generally preoccupied the past few years what with attempting to drive that incessant blue nightmare out of town all the time and everything. So, it was Sportaflop’s fault then.  _ Besides, it was his fault for getting stuck down here with me in the first place! I didn’t invite him in! And he didn’t even have the decency to bring more sports candy, so now I’m stuck making all these damned planters for him while he just lounges on that orange chair. _

 

_ It’s not his fault he has such a bad concussion. Besides, you know him; if he wasn’t so injured he’d have finished building half the planters himself by now, with fifteen double decker back flippity handsprings to spare. _

 

_ You’re right _ , Robbie told his mind. He sighed, turning back to Sportacus.

 

“....and it turns out that raw fish aren’t the worst to eat, you know,” the sports hero was saying, “the Japanese eat them all the time, this was just a bit less  _ prepared  _ than sashimi. Excellent source of healthy fats and nutritious proteins-”

 

“Look, I have an idea,” he told his ailing guest, interrupting his nutrition seminar and ignoring the ghastly insinuations of his fishy words with an imperceptible shudder. “Why don’t we switch.”

 

“Switch what?” Sportacus asked. “You know I’m always happy to lend a hand, but part of taking care of yourself is knowing when you need a rest.”

 

“No! Not jobs,” Robbie said. Sportakook could be so  _ obtuse  _ sometimes. “What I meant to say was that I have a bedroom, with a king sized bed that I hardly ever used, and somehow you’ve got the chair in this arrangement, and you’ll recover better in the bed. ANd, you can rest up while I keep building, which I  _ will _ need to do, since you need to eat.”

 

“Robbie, are you sure?” Sportacus’s eyebrows knit together in doubt. “It’s your home, and I am the guest.”

 

“And I miss my chair,” Robbie said, in a manner that seemed to say,  _ checkmate _ . “So you have to do what I want.”

 

“If you insist,” Sportacus said.

 

“Seriously though, I never use the bed. Slept in it more since the- since you got down here,” Robbie hastily amended- “than I have in yeeeears,” he exaggerated, adding in expandy hand motions for emphasis. “I usually watch television in the chair and then boom! Night time, and I’m too lazy to go to bed.”

 

Sportacus looked a bit concerned at that, but said nothing.

 

“Just until I feel better,” he said.

 

“Sure, sure. Whatever. Now, move along so I can get back to work.”

 

“I’ll try,” Sportacus said, visibly gathering his strength to lift himself out of the chair, but he seemed to be in too much pain to be able to make it completely vertical. 

 

_ Help him! _

 

_ I am helping him! I gave him my bedroom, and I am going to be building these damned planters for days so that he can not die! I nursed him back to health for days, too, and not to mention my  _ entire home _ - _

 

_ Help him  _ stand _ , you fool! He’ll get out of your hair sooner. _

 

_ That requires touching him! _

 

_ You have literrally lept into his arms on multiple occasions! _ __   
  


_ Because I was scared! _

 

_ So repay him! He’s scared and lost! _

 

_ He hasn’t showered the whole time he’s been here, and he’s a full grown man! Those get stinky! _

 

_ You haven’t  _ told  _ him he could shower! He didn’t even use the toilet without the homeowner’s permission. _

 

_ Okay, so I’ll tell him he can shower at will, then, and use the washer and drier. _

 

_ But he can’t do any of those things if you don’t help him to the other room so he can recover. _

 

_ I- aaaugh, fine! _ Robbie through his hand in the air in surrender, a process which Sportacus watched idly through pain-clouded eyes. Robbie cleared his throat. It was hard to break the habits that had been ingrained in him from years of living down here alone. He offered his hands to who took them, and slowly tried to pull the muscular man out of the chair.

 

“Jesus, what do you weigh? The navy’s biggest aircraft carrier is probably svelter than you,” Robbie muttered under his breath.

 

“I heard that,” Sportacus said faintly, breathing hard from the effort. Robbie regarded him from the side of his eye. He really was in bad shape. “You shouldn’t make a habit of commenting on other people’s bodies, no matter what. You should encourage them to make healthy choices, not shame them for their- aaah,” Sportacus winced, leaning into Robbie. 

 

“And I’m encouraging you to shut up. For your health,” Robbie said through gritted teeth, suddenly finding himself supporting the full weight of the muscular slab known as Sportacus. It was an effort not to fall over.

 

Somehow, they got themselves into a suitable position for walking, with Sportacus’s arm draped heavily over Robbie’s shoulder- and  _ euuuuffffff _ , was Robbie right about that not showering thing- and a slow pace. After what seemed like eons, Robbie deposited Sportacus onto the bed with only slight protest from the mattress. He wasn’t about to stay and tuck the smelly lump in, so he turned to leave.

 

“I’m probably going to need most of the rest of the day for the noisy stuff,” he warned Sportacus. “So just cram your head in some pillows or something. It’s what I always have to do.”

 

Sportacus grunted in reply, still face down.

 

“Oh, and Sportaflop, when you’re feeling up to it, you can take a shower.”

  
“Gee, thanks,” Sportacus said, sound muffled by the mattress. Robbie just shrugged and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robbie was a blast to write! I've always imagined him having full-blown arguments, dialogues, and discussions in his head. 
> 
> Do let me know what you think!


	5. Build And Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still hard for Sportacus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, coming up with random things to name these chapters is the hardest part of writing this. Robbie builds stuff, and Sportacus breaks....himself?? Stay tuned.

Unbelievably, Sportacus found himself dozing off after a while, laying under the sumptuous sheets and comforter on Robbie’s bed. The covers were absurdly soft, and it made sense that a man who prided himself on being lazy (and thusly, made it his life’s work to ensure that laziness) would have such insanely comfortable furniture. If he had thought the recliner was a dream, it was nothing compared to this bed. The sheets seemed to be a silk blend, the thread count probably a higher number than Sportacus could reach doing push ups. Then again, he didn’t know much about thread counts, but he knew how fantastic these sheets felt. And on top was the thickest, heaviest, fluffiest, warmest, most divinely fantastic comforter He had ever encountered. It had to be at least eight inches thick, but Robbie hadn’t turned the lights on at all, so he hadn’t had the chance to see it. And the pillows seemed to be down, the perfect marriage between firmness and give, and wonderful to mash up to fit the exact specifications of one’s body position. It was dreamy. 

 

The sheets didn’t really smell like Robbie, though, for some reason. Usually the man smelled of a mixture of whatever snack he had been cooking up in his lair and his hair pomade, both of which were notably absent from the sheets. Sportacus pondered this as he woke slowly, more comfortable than he’d been in ages, and no routine to maintain; no breakfast to handspring out of bed for. Besides, it was far past breakfast time, and he was in recovery mode, as it were.

 

No, instead, the sheets had a softer, fainter smell, like masculine shampoo and aftershave, and below that.... Of course, Robbie must shower before bed. Why would he put hair gel on overnight? That would be silly. But he had claimed to barely use the bed. Maybe he only used the bed on nights when he showered. It didn’t really matter. But Sportacus could tell that the scent that lay underneath even the minimal shampoo and aftershave scent was what robbie really smelled like, at his most basic layer. It was a strange thought. The town villain could be….larger than life sometimes, but he was also one of the most real people  _ in  _ the town, and somehow, knowing that his took all his hair gel out to sleep at night, and knowing that he had a real, human smell, it made him seem even realer. Of course, it wasn’t as if Sportacus had ever assumed that he slept in his hair gel, exactly, it was just that he had never thought about him  _ not  _ sleeping in it. And he’d already seen that Robbie had a dressing gown in his color scheme, too, and that no, his regular outfit didn’t double for pajamas like Sportacus’s did. Maybe one day, when this was all over, he’d find himself a real pair of pajamas, maybe blue plaid. Or at least stop wearing his shoes to bed.

 

Oh god, he wasn’t wearing shoes in Robbie’s bed, was he? That would be incredibly rude of him. He wiggled his toes. He’d forgotten that he hadn’t worn them in a few days. No, his bare feet brushed the sheets. 

 

He couldn’t hear the noise from the main room anymore, and he wondered if Robbie was finished for the day. He also needed a drink of water. Reluctantly, he rose from the sheets, the headache from earlier quieted to a dull ache clinging to his temples like the plastic wrap that you put over food to keep it fresh. It increased ever so slightly when he sat up. He carefully made his way over to where he vaguely remembered the door being, arms held out blindly in the dark, groping around the wall until he located the doorknob. The hallway was dark, too, and his feet hit something soft and fluffy lying in the door frame as he shuffled into the hallway.

 

Leaning down, Sportacus picked up the mysterious object. It was made out of fabric, he discovered, and as he ran his fingers across it he could feel the distinctive fabric of a towel, a little rough from the tiny loops but warm and thick and soft nonetheless. Robbie had rolled up a towel and stuffed it under the doorframe to keep more sound out. Sportacus held the towel in the dark hallway, genuinely touched that the scheming man would do something like that for him. 

 

But, he was still thirsty, so he made his way to the bathroom, arms feeling his way along the wall, towel still in one hand. Finally, he found the right door, the first one on the same side as the bedroom, and felt around for the light switch. Screwing up his face a little at the pain that accompanied the sudden brightness, Sportacus hung the towel on the inner doorknob and went over to the sink, cupped his hands under the faucet, and took another long, satisfying drink.

 

When he was done, he regarded himself in the mirror. He was still wearing his hat, though his goggles had come off during his nap. It was okay, he mused, since he wouldn’t be doing any flying any time soon.

 

Because Lazytown was gone.

 

That ache in his chest started up again as his mind raced through all of the ramifications of the bomb: citizens were in danger, and he couldn’t help them.

 

What kind of hero just let the danger go unnoticed?

 

Why had he let Robbie put his crystal away? 

 

Sportacus clutched the edges of the sink’s basin and stared hard at himself in the mirror. 

 

For the first time in his life, he was seriously, badly injured, and his ailment was showing no signs of getting better from the sports candies. He had no way of reaching anyone in danger; Robbie had explained that the radiation levels above ground were far too high for anyone to withstand. He couldn’t stop the bomb from hitting Lazytown. 

 

He had sworn to protect them all, but he had failed.

 

_ Who are you?  _ He asked the blue eyed reflection in the mirror.  _ What are you without a town to save? You’re not even an above average hero any more, you’re….. _

 

Sportacus looked away, shaking slightly. 

 

_ I have to see the town again _ . Steeling himself, he straightened up. Setting his shoulders and clenching his jaw in a determined way, he headed for the main room, leaving the lights on so that he could see his way enough to figure out that peculiar submarine-esque door. From this side, where it didn’t need to be hidden, it was opened by spinning a wheel. Sportacus opened it with quite a bit of effort, since he was still in a weakened state, and stepped out. Robbie was engrossed in his construction work, working on dovetailing a corner of a planter. Sportacus looked around, impressed at the amount of work Robbie had been able to do while he slept. Seven planters were at a near complete stage.

 

“This is amazing,” Sportacus said as he approached him. Robbie had changed into a more appropriate work outfit, a plaid workshirt in his usual colors and a pair of hardy maroon trousers with black work boots. He was also wearing earplugs, even though the he wasn’t working on anything loud. He had probably just forgotten to take them out. Sportacus tapped on his shoulder, and watched as the town villain jumped almost a foot in the air.

 

“Sportaloon!!” Robbie exclaimed. “You scared the rotten out of me!”

 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Sportacus asked.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“A little better,” Sportacus said. “How did you manage to do all this so quickly?”

 

“You’ve been asleep for about eight hours,” Robbie told him. 

 

“What? Eight hours? But shouldn’t you have gone to bed, too?”

 

“Oh, I tend to work through the night when I have something worth doing,” Robbie said, waving a hand dismissively.

 

“That’s only going to slow you down in the long run,” Sportacus chastised. “You’ll be extra tired and it’ll make you work less efficiently.”

 

“Not if I sleep in until I’ve got a full night’s sleep anyway?” Robbie said with a shrug.

 

Sportacus shook his head, but let it go. It was never his goal to force anyone into healthy behaviors; all he could do was tell them what was a healthy choice and lead by example. Coercing someone to eat right or play outside only worked as long as he was watching; true healthy habits came from within.

 

“Can I use your periscope again?” Sportacus asked instead.

 

“But it’s not dawn yet,” Robbie reminded him, “and nothing will have changed.”

 

Sportacus’s shoulders fell. Somewhere, deep down, he knew he needed to see the danger for himself again or he’d feel immensely guilty for not climbing out of the lair to go save people.

 

Robbie must have seen the look on his face, because he soon relented. 

 

“It’s okay, there might be moonlight.” 

 

Sportacus nodded solemnly and followed him over to the edge of his costume display tubes. Robbie clapped his hands and the periscope’s viewer descended.

 

Sportacus looked through them. The view that awaited his eyes was just as disturbing as it had been before; maybe even more so since the dust had settled. The debris of the town lay scattered across the ground, bits of burnt buildings, walls, and trees lying everywhere. It was eerily still, and the moonlight cast a deathly glow over everything. Sportacus shuddered.

 

“And the radiation levels…..”

 

“Are really too high. Even for you,” he said gently, patting Sportcus’s upper arm gently. He seemed to know exactly what was bothering him. “I know you feel useless not being able to save everyone, but Sportacus, you need to save yourself.”

 

“Everything’s ruined,” Sportacus said quietly, shaking in sadness. “I couldn’t save the town, and I’m no good stuck down here.” His accent was thick again, almost incomprehensible.

 

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.” Robbie moved to comfort Sportacus again, but the tenth hero pulled back from his touch. 

 

“It’s okay,” he insisted. Robbie could clearly see that it wasn’t okay, but he had no idea how to comfort someone who had just shown, visibly, that he didn’t want it.

 

“Why don’t you take a nice bubble bath? That always helps me feel good when I’m down,” he suggested. “And you can put your clothes in the wash so they’re nice and clean when you finish up. Oh, wait, take this-”

 

“Later,” Sportacus said. “I just want to go back to bed now.”

 

“Still, though, you should take this.” Robbie handed him his other wrist piece.

 

“Why did you take it off in the first place?” Sportacus asked, curiosity momentarily trumping sadness.

 

“You were in really bad shape those first few nights,” Robbie admitted reluctantly after a moment of consideration. “I had to check your pulse more than a few times.”

 

Sportacus pulled his head back, shocked.

 

“It was really that bad?”

 

Robbie nodded. Sportacus looked at the chair, astounded.

 

His health had never, ever been this poor before.

 

“You should go back to bed, you’re looking pale again.”

  
Sportacus nodded weakly, and taking his wrist piece, complied.


End file.
